


Purple shirt, also know as the sex shirt

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once they entered the flat, John went to their bedroom and packed his things. Sherlock sat, defeated, in the sofa; he removed the damn shirt and tossed it in the fireplace. When John came out; he could smell the distinctive scent of fabric being burned (he had enough experience in the field, having lost many jumpers the same way). He looked at a shirtless Sherlock questioningly, dropping his bag next to the sofa and folding his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple shirt, also know as the sex shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingtatsunari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingtatsunari/gifts).



> to agentbarnes, Happy Christmas

They had been together for six months now, and Sherlock had learn that every time he put on his purple shirt John would be giving him dirty, lascivious looks, and that every night, he’ll be eagerly groping Sherlock and divesting him of everything but the purple shirt; then Sherlock will be thoroughly fucked into the mattress, several times, in several ways.

Thinking back, whenever he wore the purple shirt, John would always manage to be close to him somehow, his eyes would be slightly dilated, and his pulse will be erratic, but the ever observant Sherlock, never linked the shirt with John’s changes. Even before… everything, he never noticed that the changes were the direct effect of his shirt.

For the past four months, Sherlock had been wearing that maddening purple shirt, at least once a week, and John was surely spent, but he couldn’t keep his hands away from Sherlock; the goddam shirt made him look like walking sex; it hugged him in all the right places, his biceps will be very visible, all the muscles in his back very noticeable; it looked almost like a second skin; the buttons would strain every time he took a breath; and all his movements will be defined by the damn shirt.

John couldn’t resist the godforsaken shirt, ever, his brain would melt and then he’ll act like and animal on rut. If they were on a case; and now, more often than ever, Sherlock would remove the Belstaff and be wearing that dammed shirt; he would also go to the shops and their dates wearing the shirt. And John would lose his ability to think, to talk, to be; because his eyes would only be able to wander over the shirt, and look at the buttons and have the urgency to go back home to have Sherlock anywhere, and only wearing the shirt.

Sherlock bought a dozen purple shirts, so he could use them more often than he did his white ones, he went from using it once in a while, maybe once or twice a month, to using it once every week, noting the effect it had on John; he would use it every time they went out, during cases he’ll remove his Belstaff and while deducing he would eye John over his shoulder, noting his ever growing… interest…

He would use the shirt to go shopping for milk with John, and for their dates; always under his Belstaff and suit jacket. He was enjoying himself too much, but he knew that sooner or later John would found all about his dozen purple shirt stash hidden at their closet, so he stopped wearing the shirts all together, he needed to know if what spiked John’s… needs was the shirt or he himself.

Their sexual encounters didn’t diminish, nor in passion, nor in intensity, and much less in frequency, acting like true teenagers in heat, though John’s actions were moderated and controlled. Sherlock felt slightly disappointed, he always looked at John with desire, love, need, want; no matter what he was wearing, though, admittedly, his Adam’s suit drove Sherlock crazy.   

One morning they were called for a case, and Sherlock pulled on a tight black button up, it was cold outside, so he pulled his suit jacket, Belstaff and the silk blue scarf that John had given him last Christmas. Once they arrived to the crime scene, he didn’t remove his Belstaff, he wasn’t in the mood to entertain John, but he also wasn’t wearing the purple shirt. The crime scene was in a heated flat, the murderer had left the heating on in order to decompose the body faster and confuse the police and the detectives about TOD (time of death), but little the murderer know that Sherlock could solve the case in less than an hour.

Unfortunately, due to the heat inside the flat, he had to remove his outer clothes, and roll up his black shirt’ sleeves. He could feel John’s gaze on him; and though he felt flattered, he felt sad and confused, it was the clothes that drove him mad; not Sherlock

John had noticed that Sherlock stopped using his purple shirt all together, and all of the sudden, he thought to himself that maybe he felt uncomfortable about John groping him all the time, so he stopped himself. He loved the purple shirt because it contrasted with Sherlock’s skin, but he looked so damn hot all the time, that John could barely think when Sherlock was close.

The white shirts were infuriatingly sexy, they were transparent enough for John to see Sherlock’s body and day dream about those nipples hardening under his touch, those muscles straining every time he needed to breathe, the skin under the shirt calling him, teasing him… But he controlled himself, it took all he had, but he managed to stay calmed and controlled; he didn’t want to tire Sherlock, even though he felt like a teenager and couldn’t have enough, Sherlock’s naked body turned his brain into pudding and he never had enough of it.

John noticed that Sherlock was acting strangely; and that that morning, he had gone to the bathroom to dress, he couldn’t see what he was wearing, and he wasn’t expecting to see that black shirt, he not only looked like a god, but he looked like walking sex again, he always looked like walking sex, but there was something that turned John on whenever Sherlock was wearing a piece of fabric which colour contrasted with his skin.

As soon as they sat on the cab, John pulled Sherlock for a kiss, but he was rudely stopped by a very annoyed and sad looking consulting detective. The ride home was silent and John felt his heart ache to see Sherlock looking so sad, he had fucked up, Sherlock was finally tired of him. He looked out the window and felt his eyes sting with tears, he wasn’t interesting; or new anymore, Sherlock was done; he had finally managed to tire him up.

Sherlock felt sad, it was the damn shirts what attracted John, not his body, John tried to grope him during the ride back home but he was too broken hearted to stand John and his insane fetish with shirts right now. John didn’t even hold his hand as he used to do every time they went home, and looked out the window, never facing him.

Once they entered the flat, John went to their bedroom and packed his things. Sherlock sat, defeated, in the sofa; he removed the damn shirt and tossed it in the fireplace. When John came out; he could smell the distinctive scent of fabric being burned (he had enough experience in the field, having lost many jumpers the same way). He looked at a shirtless Sherlock questioningly, dropping his bag next to the sofa and folding his arms.

“What the hell Sherlock?”

“I burned the shirt” Sherlock said nonchalantly

“Why? It was a silk shirt!” John pinched his nose.

“I’m perfectly aware of it” Sherlock looked down

“That doesn’t answer why you burn it”

“Because you like the damn shirts more than you like me!” Sherlock sulked

“What?” John was dumbfounded

“Don’t deny it” Sherlock snapped, noticing for the first time the bag next to the sofa “Where are you going?” He asked, his voice broke

“I… “ John looked down “I thought that I had finally managed to tire you up, that you were tired of me needing to have you all day, all days, like a bloody teenager”

Now Sherlock was dumbfounded. He stood from the sofa and went over to John and hugged him close, kissing the top of his head and placing soft kisses on his cheeks and eyes and lips.

“You never tire me, love” Sherlock said between kisses

“And I like you more than I like your shirts, I love you” John said kissing him back and caressing his bare back.

“Then why you act like an animal on rut every time I wear the purple shirt? Not that I’m complaining, but I’m curious”

“You look so damn hot all the time, you’re too sexy for my poor brain, whenever you wear your white shirts, you don’t leave anything to the imagination, and I’m thankful that you wear your suit jacket on top of them most times, or else I’ll never be able to stand next to you without wanting to tear the fucking shirt and kissing your chest and back” John looked up at Sherlock “But whenever you use a coloured shirt, like the black one you just burned, or the purple that I like so much; your skin looks different, radiant, you light up. I can’t ever take my eyes of off you, but those maddening shirts make look like a fucking perv; I can see how the shirts hug you everywhere and I can’t stand it, I have to have you, because they are like a second skin and I could die to touch your skin. Though I must admit that my favourite look is the one you have now, bare-chested, slightly flushed, and preferably under me” He winked

“Then, by all means, we should go buy coloured shirts for me to wear and for you to tear apart” Sherlock teased, and kissed John deeply

“You’re going to be the death of me, Sherlock Holmes, you and your damn sex shirt” John kissed him back

“I shall wear them just for you then, anything else I should not wear to go out?” Sherlock asked playfully

“Oh God, if that’s the case, then you would never leave this flat, because your shirts drive me crazy, and don’t let me start about your trousers” John smiled kissing his detective slowly, leading him to the bedroom.


End file.
